Another Archrival
by Ergo Ipso Facto
Summary: FE9 Maybe it's just a coincidence, but you can always make time for another archrival, right? Chapter 3: The only major personage not yet to do so suffers bodily harm.
1. Which concerns destiny and whatnot

Mia sat in the dim tent in an attitude of total concentration, leaning forward to grip her feet. The old fortune-teller gently pried the young mercenary's hands free and laced them together. "Relax, dear, or the reading will never come out right." Mia nodded, her wide eyes intent in the pale purple light flickering from the crystal ball. She was still for perhaps a quarter of a second before one nimble hand fluttered birdlike to her blue hair and she began toying with it thoughtfully. "You have a great energy, my child." She forbore to mention the girl's youthful gullibility. It was almost a shame to cheat such an easy mark, someone possessed of so much vitality and trust. Then again, those were the sorts who tended to rebound most quickly from being deceived, or to banish the memory altogether. A blue-eyed knight from the same company had come to her at least three times with a sketch of a girl - a different one each time - and shelled out fistfuls of gold for assurances that she was The One. Then a horribly crass archer-type had ranted at her for a full five minutes and threatened to burn her tent down, until finally she'd had to return the money... but hopefully that wouldn't happen this time. It would have to be a very convincing reading.

"Here, give me your hand. Either one, don't overthink it. The greatest truth is in what you do by instinct," she said, reviewing what she knew about Mia. There wasn't very much. No one was entirely sure where she'd come from, and while she was pleasant and cheerful, no one really talked to her much. It seemed that doing so for periods in excess of three minutes always resulted in an invitation to spar, and that she wouldn't take no for an answer. The fortune-teller was going to miss that knight - he'd told her all the gossip while he waited for his reading.

"I'm ready, granny lady." Mia put her hand into the older woman's. It was a small, agile hand, but callused, and her grip was firm. She was smiling, uncertain but unafraid. The fortune-teller began to have a very definite idea what sort of direction this reading would take... But really, _"granny lady?"_

"Now I'll put my other hand on the crystal ball, so that your energy flows through me into the crystal. Do you see it beginning to swirl?" she asked. Actually, the swirling colors just meant that the candle she'd hidden inside the ingenious contraption had begun to gutter. She immediately set about devising a contingency plan in case it should go out. "Now, Mia, I need you to close your eyes and breathe deeply. That's right. Like you do when you practice with your blade." Admittedly she was going out on a limb here, but most people who subscribed to one brand of mysticism would believe in others. And if she was right, it would only increase Mia's confidence in her.

At every small sound, every perturbation of the air, Mia's eyes flicked about beneath her eyelids, as though she could still see the cause of the disturbance. Yet for all this intensity of attention, she seemed to be heeding the fortune-teller's instructions. Her breathing was slow and rhythmic and she'd stopped fidgeting. A remarkable young woman, that tension and calm should be so wedded within her. No doubt it served her well as a fighter.

When she was satisfied she had a good enough read on Mia, the fortune-teller began to speak in the low, sonorous voice that had so often put bread on her table: _"With white robes flowing in the breeze, your archrival rides toward you..."  
_

* * *

"Kieran, I know we've been through this before, but please humor me." 

Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran looked up from attempting to yank his axe out of the ground. It was at that precise instant that the axe came free, flying back to crash into his (fortunately armored) shoulder. Rhys winced as the knight staggered backwards a few steps before catching himself.

"What is it?"

"Oh, dear, your armor's dented. Take it off, I'll give it to Daniel and you can pick it up tomorrow - Kieran."

The red-haired knight's attention had already meandered off in an unrelated direction, as evidenced by his taking up a second axe and preparing to hurl it skyward. "Watch, I can juggle all three. If you could just throw me the one over there once I've started -"

"Captain Kieran!"

Letting go of the lefthand axe so that it fell perilously close to his foot, Kieran grinned suddenly. "Did I ever tell you how I became a captain? It began with my meritorious service in the face of the Giant Lizard Queen of Nados -"

"What purpose does juggling axes serve in a knightly training regimen?"

"I'm just about to get to that, actually. With the lizard hordes closing in on all sides -"

"I'll listen to your story if you let me take your dented armor to Daniel." Always spoiling for an attentive audience, Kieran obediently began to shuck off his red-enameled plate mail as he spun an epic tale of derring-do and improbable martial feats. It became quickly evident that there was not a piece of armor on him that was not dented to some extent. "You know, it doesn't make Crimea look very good for one of her finest to go riding around like that," said Rhys, quailing at the thought of carrying the great load to the forge. "And - you're bleeding!"

Indeed, blood had soaked through the side of the white shirt Kieran wore under his armor. He broke in his narrative for a moment to examine it speculatively. "Oh."

"'Oh?' How did you even get an injury there?" Rhys had learned long ago to have a healing staff on hand whenever he talked to Kieran, and he raised it as he approached. "Here, let me look." He wished he'd had time to replace the Mend staff that had broken in the last battle - the knight was bleeding rather profusely.

Kieran lifted his shirt to examine the gash running along his side, then looked up at Rhys and shrugged. "Bears?" he ventured. "Put your staff away! Such a trifling injury will not hinder a true knight of Crimea. Why, I've sustained many more grievous wounds, as in my valorous campaign against -"

"This is an old wound, Kieran. You just ripped it open. I think you've ripped it open more than once." Rhys could not quite keep the accusation from his voice and was briefly annoyed at himself, though he knew it would only bounce off. Kieran was reckless, yes, but behind that recklessness lay great courage and devotion to queen and country. He must not be judged harshly for it. But someday, if no one was around with a word of warning and a hefty stock of staves... "There," said Rhys, lowering his staff. He clucked his tongue in disapproval; the bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. But he had _also_ learned long ago that bandages were never a bad investment in a mercenary company. "Don't go anywhere yet," he cautioned his patient, retrieving a clean white roll. "I'll just get this wrapped up. I don't suppose I can get you to stop training for the day, but have Mist look at it when you get back to the main encampment." He didn't add that he feared he'd be too exhausted to finish the job. He already felt somewhat lightheaded, now that his concentration on the healing had faded. Did he really have to carry that heap of metal all the way to the merchants? It wasn't as though he'd been listening very attentively to Kieran's story...

"Thank you, Rhys, in the name of the Crimean Royal Knights." Suddenly Kieran looked unwontedly shrewd. "Doesn't water stop bleeding?"

Rhys was taken aback for a moment that Kieran should take any interest in self-preservation, even if his information was not quite accurate. "Er, well, cold water will. Warm water does the opposite. What are you planning?"

"Well, I was just thinking that it's foolish for a royal knight to rely on his armor."

"You're going to have to spell this out for me."

"I'm going to sit under a waterfall for a few hours to toughen up! No force of nature is a match for Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran!" He ran to his horse, tethered far enough away that it was generally in no peril from errant axes.

Rhys sighed and eyed the pile of discarded armor. This would be an... interesting afternoon.

* * *

"Rhys? Hey, Rhys!" Mia waved at the priest as she jogged over, wondering if he could even see her over the heaps of red metal in his arms. "What have you got there?" 

"Kieran's... armor," he grunted, stumbling a few more paces before coming to a halt and catching his breath. He must have been progressing in this fashion for quite some time, if the sweaty redness of his face was any indicator.

"Here, let me take some of that," said Mia, lifting the breastplate from his arms. Then she paused, staring at him and his white robes critically. "Why do you have this, anyway? Are you going to take up riding?"

"No," Rhys said so emphatically that Mia shrugged and walked on ahead. Well, there hadn't been any specific timeframe involved. For all she knew, it could be days or even weeks before her archrival appeared. She doubted that, though. Today had the savor of destiny about it...

"Mia?" By his tone, this was not the first time Rhys had called her name.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, really. I was just asking what you'd been up to today."

She bit her lip. Wasn't there some tradition about fortunes losing their power if you shared them with someone else? Then again, Rhys was a priest. She was sure he kept all kinds of mystical secrets. "I got my fortune told."

"Really?" Mia liked that about Rhys. He was always interested in whatever you had to say. "Who by?"

"That old lady in the caravan. With the veils and everything."

"Not the same one who swi - ah, who read tea leaves for Gatrie?"

Oh, this was a good sign. This was a very good sign. Rhys ought to know about these kinds of things, and he'd immediately known which fortune-teller she'd seen. She realized that she must tell him everything. "That's the one. Do you know what she said?" It wasn't a rhetorical question, but he either took it for one or just didn't know. Well, that was discouraging, but not too bad. "She said I'm going to meet my destined archrival soon."

"Mia, wait, I need to catch my breath." Mia stopped obligingly, then relieved him of a few more pieces of armor. "Your archrival, you said?"

"Yup. Say, are you sure you don't want to get yourself a horse? I mean, since you get so tired all the time."

"Don't worry about me," he said, and started walking again.

Mia hung back this time to walk in step with the priest. It was amusing to try to match his stride. "If you say so. Want to hear what she told me about my archrival? I'll know him when I see him, but maybe you could keep an eye out for him, too."

"I'd be glad to."

"'With white robes flowing in the breeze, your archrival rides towards you.' Oh, shoot, I can't do the spooky voice like she did. Anyway, there was some other stuff about our epic conflict, but - "

Rhys chuckled weakly and nearly dropped his load. "Is that why you want me to ride? I'm not your rival, I promise."

Mia frowned. "I guess not. But do you know anyone like that? There aren't a whole lot of other people around here with white robes on."

"Not off the top of my head. I'll look for him for you, though."

"Thanks, Rhys." There was a lengthy pause. "Why are we carrying Kieran's armor, again? Isn't he that - "

"Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain?" Rhys offered.

"Yeah, him."

"He was training today and he's very hard on his equipment. I told him I'd have it repaired."

"And he left you to carry it by yourself? What kind of knight does that?"

"Kieran's a good man," Rhys said lamely.

"Sure." The next time they paused for a breather, she forcefully unburdened the priest of the rest of Kieran's armor. "You don't look too good. You should go get some rest. We're counting on you to keep the rest of us alive."

"But no pressure or anything, right?" Rhys asked, laughing. "Thank you, Mia. I will." His laughter turned wheezy and he began to cough. Mia hovered at his side looking concerned.

"Where is Kieran, anyway?"

"Sitting under... a waterfall... I'll be fine."

That was doubtful. Rhys was almost never fine. He could be a little difficult about it, though, so Mia left it alone. "I'll just take all this to Daniel then, right? Who's going to pay for it?"

"I will."

She nodded and began walking away before she remembered something. "Oh, and Rhys? You _will_ be looking, right?"

"I promised. I will."

"All right. Take care of yourself."

* * *

His head hurt. Actually, most of him hurt. And he was cold. Also, wet. 

Like hell he'd say a word about it.

By his best estimate, Kieran had been sitting beneath the waterfall for around five minutes. His horse had stared at him wonderingly for the first of them, as though marveling at his rider's dedication. For the other four he'd been grazing contentedly. Well, let him! A horse had very little to prove, as long as he carried his rider well, which this one typically did unless Kieran began flailing about too wildly with his axe. That horse never spooked at some good, clean, _glorious_ carnage. He'd also adapted to Kieran's occasional lapses in memory to the point that he would answer to any name from "Theodore" to "Dragonsbreath" to "You! Horse!" A worthy mount, indeed.

Kieran was still both cold and wet, but under no circumstances would a true knight let this waterfall best him. He braced his hands on his knees and most emphatically did not shiver. Ha! He'd like to see Oscar do something like this. A mere mercenary would never be able to withstand the elements with such fortitude, and that went double for craven, squinty turncoats. No, it was for the greater glory of Crimea that he -

Where had his horse gone?

He lurched to his feet and stood for a fraction of a second before the falling water battered him down again onto the stones. His footing lost, he slid down into the pool below and thrashed violently in the water shouting "Treachery! Base treachery!" until he realized that the waterfall probably would not be answering him. Unabashed, he waded out of the pool onto grass recently cropped by the teeth of his own errant steed - fortunately, tracking was among his multifarious talents, so the horse was as good as found already. "This isn't over!" he said hotly in the general direction of the waterfall before striding off on his latest valorous quest. Then he had to return briefly to the side of the pool to retrieve his axe.

"Hugo?" he called out. "Maverick? Broderick? Oi You Swaybacked Nag?" Perhaps he should stop renaming his horse every time a new fancy struck him, but really, you couldn't very well challenge the Giant Whippoorwill of Southern Crimea on a horse named Renaud, could you? No, you certainly could not! Such a heroic feat required a name like Ravager or possibly Maximillian. That reminded him. "Ravager? Maximillian?" Nothing. But he kept walking, a series of successively more impressive trumpet fanfares accompanying his progress in the back of his mind.

Ravager-or-possibly-Maximillian finally came into view at the crest of a nearby hill. He flicked his ears in calm acknowledgement of Kieran's piercing whistle and continued to graze. A worthy mount, occasionally. At least he didn't resist his rider's approach and subsequent swinging into the saddle. Kieran paused thoughtfully, marking the slight breeze and the great copper disc of the sun behind him. It was early evening - no, "twilight" was the word; a very dramatic time of day by all accounts. For a moment he envisioned himself as seen from the valley below, silhouetted against the setting sun, Ravager-Maximillian rearing most theatrically in the waning light...

The horse refused to oblige him, but cantered smoothly enough up and down the rises in the ground. Both parties were vaguely aware of a white something billowing out behind them like an elegant streamer; it was only Kieran who realized that it was his bandage, come somewhat loose and mostly dry in the day's exertions. He did not correct it. It was rather striking.

He started reining in Ravager-or-whomever as they approached the encampment of what now passed for the Crimean army. Rather a wan showing, but all the men and women ensconced therein had proven their own valor and devotion to their mother country. Not a one among them was a candle to Kieran's great knightly sun, nor would any be until they were reunited with Geoffrey. There was a man worth admiring -

A thin blue-haired girl suddenly dove out of Ravager's path and rolled to her feet off to one side, green eyes wide. Kieran, no less astonished, tugged his horse back to a halt. The girl would not meet his gaze, muttering something to herself.

"Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran greets you, um...?"

"Mia," she said, now staring up at him with an expression of intense scrutiny. "Could you be...?"

"The great knight who delivered the people from -"

"No, my archrival." She stepped up to Maximillian's side and pulled on the loose end of Kieran's bandage. "Well, it's not a robe, but -"

"I already have an archrival," he interrupted, largely to disguise the fact that he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Well, don't you have time for another?" Mia looked very earnest and very, very determined. "Having a rival helps you improve faster, so having two _arch_rivals should be about four times as good, right?"

Kieran thought about that for a moment.

"Who's your archrival now?"

_"Oscar," _he said venomously, his eyes narrowing into slits. Someone had once told him that he most resembled Oscar when he was seething with hatred for the same, but he'd yelled at great length about vile and malicious slander until the argument was dropped.

"Oscar? But he's such a nice guy!"

_"What."_

"And a great cook -"

"Lies! Deceitful, fiendish lies! That treacherous scab on humanity - augh! He may try to set you at ease with pleasantries and - and _cooking_, but rest assured, 'Oscar' is the name of all that is ignoble and false!"

Mia blinked several times. "I'm not sure I want to be your archrival anymore."

"Mighty and implacable is the wrath of a Crimean Royal Knight," Kieran agreed, nodding gravely.

"But my fortune..." She trailed off, chewing contemplatively on a lock of hair that had somehow arrived in her mouth. "I have to think about this." There was a pause. "Hey, aren't you the one whose armor Rhys was lugging around half the day?"

"Indeed." It was a relief not to be talking about Oscar anymore. His blood pressure had just dropped off quite dramatically. "He made a most noble and generous offer."

"He looked like he was going to die."

Another pause. "Did he?"

"No. But I have to ask: how did you manage to do that much damage in one day, training by yourself?"

"A Crimean Royal Knight trains himself without mercy -"

"Or _was_ it all in one day? You don't get it fixed very often, do you? Man." Mia shook her head. "It's like none of you men can take care of yourselves at all."

"Can, too," Kieran said rather childishly. "You should try real army discipline some time."

She was ignoring him. "Maybe if we just trained together..." Ravager whuffled at her and she idly patted the horse's nose. "I could use practice fighting knights. And the more practice you get, the sooner you'll be able to beat Oscar, right?"

His eyes narrowed again. "I could beat Oscar in a fair contest any day. He cheats."

"Whatever you say. You're bleeding, you know."

She was right. The cut in his side had closed up under the waterfall but seemed to have opened again in the past few minutes. "It's only a scratch."

"You should have Rhys look at it. And thank him for carrying your armor!" Fair enough, Kieran decided. He'd heeled Maximillian to a walk before she called out. "Kieran, wait." He waited. "We don't have to be archrivals. We could just be regular rivals. You weren't really wearing robes anyway."

She was probably crazy, what with her robe fixation, but it wasn't such a bad idea. He'd consider it. In the meantime... Yes! Ravager was rearing majestically just like he hadn't on the hilltop, and then he was off. "Good day!"

* * *

With white bandages flapping in the wind, Mia's rival rode away from her.

* * *

**A/N: **Whew. Okay, I haven't written any fanfic since mid-2005, so this has been sort of a warm-up piece for me. Concrit appreciated before I start actually taking stuff seriously.  
1) Yes, Kieran's horse's name is supposed to keep changing.  
2) Characterizing Mia and Kieran (and Rhys) was hard, so let me know where I went off most significantly.

Thanks for reading.


	2. Which contains a conflagration

Kieran was behaving differently lately.

Not that that was bad, in and of itself, though of course Rhys hesitated to call it "good." It was not for him to say whether radical changes in demeanor were, objectively, improvements. Perhaps they decreased the immediate peril to random passersby, but there were merits to everything and no one personality was inherently superior to another.

However odd the knight's new obsession, however precipitously he'd taken it up, whatever underlying issues it might signify, Rhys was relieved all the same. He tried not to think that it reflected badly on him as a person.

It was just so much harder to maim yourself, even with Kieran's genius for self-injury, when you were cooking. Granted, there was still a fair amount of flinging-about of sharp metal objects, and this time without any armor – dented or otherwise – and the ultimate results were often patently disastrous, but… well, maybe nothing had really changed after all; cooking just _sounded_ so much more peaceful and domestic. This was probably the part where Kieran would announce that a true Crimean Royal Knight, most especially a Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain, could turn anything into a war. Why, otherwise it would scarcely be worth his time.

The priest sighed, resting his chin in his hands. "I really think that fire's too hot. You'll scorch it."

"Nonsense! It's mostly water anyway," Kieran scoffed, examining the pot into which he was cutting assorted vegetables. "Is potato juice red?"

"Let me see your hands," Rhys said with a faint smile, picking up the Heal staff he still knew better than to leave behind. As expected, the knight's hands were a network of small cuts, with a fairly impressive slice taken out of the base of his left thumb as an added bonus. He didn't even bother with an admonition as he healed them, instead elaborating on his earlier point. "It's thicker than water. You can ruin anything if you try to heat it up too fast. Cooking properly takes patience."

Kieran ground his teeth. Audibly. Rhys winced. "Bah! Small wonder Oscar excels at it! He has the patience of a fiend. Always lurking in wait for the perfect opportunity to strike –"

"I'm not sure we know the same Oscar."

"It's a dark day that more than one of him stalks the earth."

Rhys earnestly tried not to laugh, with mixed success. His unconvincing fake cough turned into a perfectly convincing real one, and before long he was doubled over and wheezing. At least that wasn't generally taken for a sign of amusement. When he straightened, Kieran was only staring at him in a sort of subdued alarm. _Subdued? Kieran? There's a first._

"So, ah, Kieran," he said once he'd recovered, if not all of it, enough of his breath that the prospect of conversation was no longer an absurdity, "why are you so taken with cooking lately anyway?"

"I'm beating that villain at his own game," Kieran said, and promptly carved another slice out of his thumb when an innocent turnip yielded too easily before his fervor. He didn't seem to notice. "Everyone knows I'm the better fighter. All that remains is to force him to acknowledge it. That will come easily enough" – he cut another gash into his palm, still oblivious – "once I've trounced him in single combat. How could he stand against a –"

"Royal Crimean Knight?" Rhys suggested dryly.

"That would be Crimean Royal Knight. And I meant to ask how he could stand against any man of honor and valor, which, incidentally, are the hallmarks of the Crimean Royal Knights." Kieran gave Rhys a fierce glare and the priest struggled to look suitably chastened. "I will best Oscar in _every_ area" – and he dragged his knife down through a misshapen heap of vegetal matter with such force that he seemed likely to cleave the cutting board in two. At least for once he'd had the sense not to cut towards his fingers. It was probably dumb luck, but Rhys rejected such cynical thoughts.

"But since your prowess in battle is already legendary, why do you need to prove yourself on other grounds?" It was rather a leading question, Rhys reflected with distaste, but guidance sometimes involved manipulation.

"Because!" Kieran whirled around, brandishing the knife so vigorously that a slice of onion flew off the blade to strike Rhys in the face. "I've figured it out. His cooking is but one of his many methods of deception, winning innocents to his cause!"

"And, ah, where did you come by this conclusion?"

"That sword girl." He paused, trying to remember in more detail. "The one with the hair."

Rhys was unaware of anyone in the company without hair. It was very fortunate that there was only one "sword girl" to begin with. "You mean Mia?"

"Yes. Mia." Kieran frowned. "Lawrence seemed to like her. It was odd."

Rhys didn't bother to correct him, but Lawrence – hadn't his name been Ravager a few days ago? – liked everyone female. Not even Marcia could explain it. "Did Mia tell you that?"

"No. It was already too late. But I can't let him hold sway over her – if I let both of my rivals align against me, who knows what conspiracies he'd devise?"

This was suddenly becoming much clearer. The air in the mess hall, on the other hand, was doing quite the opposite. Rhys remembered suddenly that he'd had the chills for a day or so and was now quite comfortable… Which could only mean that…

He had to force himself to look at the fire. "Fire" barely described it now; it was working very seriously on attaining "blaze" status. Oh, that was right – you were probably supposed to assemble all the ingredients before lighting the fire, so it couldn't get out of your control. Why exactly had _he_ become Kieran's supervisor in the kitchen?

"Rhys? …Rhys, are you listening? I'm sure he's the one who short-sheeted me that one night back in training –"

"Kieran. Fire," Rhys said bluntly, pointing at it. He fell to coughing again.

Kieran stared into the pot. "I'm almost finished –"

"No! Get Soren." A good Wind spell would put out the fire, right? Or would that only make it worse? Maybe you were supposed to fight fire with Fire, since things didn't get trite if they weren't true. He was really a good bit more lightheaded than was usual around this time of day…

_Is he really going to try to cook on that?_

* * *

Rhys had sort of fallen out of the door. Kieran had followed, flapping his arms wildly as if he expected that to put out the fire. The whole business smacked of secrets, and Mia wanted in on them. 

She elbowed Oscar. "Hey. Any idea what's going on?"

Kieran beat imaginary flames from his clothing and gave the other knight a murderous glare. "Not really," Oscar said, unfazed. "I was just coming back here to start making dinner –"

"Hah!" Kieran barked, stalking over to join them. "A likely story." He thrust a finger into Oscar's face. "You tampered, didn't you? Shame! I thought even you were above such cowardly acts of sabotage! It's a wonder to me that you lasted even as long as you did in the service of Crimea. Fie! _Fie!_"

"I don't know what you're talking about, honestly," said Oscar, cautiously deflecting Kieran's accusing finger from his face with one hand.

"He only got here a little before I did," said Mia. "He couldn't have done it."

"Maybe it was Volke." Boyd had only just arrived but did not hesitate to offer his own opinion. "That guy's just plain creepy."

"Maybe there wasn't any sabotage," Oscar suggested.

"Try to deflect the blame, try to deny it, do what you will. I know it was you, Oscar!" Kieran fairly shouted. "And soon everyone else will, too!" He marched off, stiff with fury. Boyd, Mia, and Oscar exchanged glances.

"Do you think he's all right?" Boyd asked. "In the head, I mean." He tapped a finger against his temple in case the others had missed his meaning.

Oscar glanced at the knight's receding back, eyebrows raised. "I wonder sometimes."

* * *

She had to run to catch up to him. She also had to yell a lot to catch his attention. He finally turned and delivered a lengthy and fervent rant on the great evils of Oscar and how he, Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran, was the only one able to protect them from his insidious treachery – a rant to which she paid next to no attention. 

"Want to spar?" she asked when he paused for a breath.

He made an impatient silencing gesture. "And then he said 'I don't know what you're talking about!' The _gall_ of the man!"

This was becoming a disaster. Mia didn't know anything about "that cretinous cretin's myriad perfidies," or even what half of those words meant. She'd been watching Commander Ike fight lately and was dying to try to incorporate some of his moves into her style, something she couldn't do very well without anyone to try them on.

He was still fuming, but now he was only muttering some really interesting theories about Oscar's lineage, and she thought she saw an opening. "Hey, I'm your rival, too, remember?"

He stared at her sharply. "Yes, well…"

Then her curiosity overrode her other concerns and she blurted out, "What happened in there, anyway?"

"Fire," Kieran said evasively, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"I know that part. How did it get there?"

"It was… started." He was looking at a spot above and slightly to the left of her head instead of at her.

"Who started it?"

"There are plenty of perfectly legitimate reasons to start fires!" He shouted.

Mia stood staring at him for a moment or two before it fully sunk in. "You?"

"I may or may not have said something to that effect. Now prepare yourself, sword gi – uh, Mia! For when I return, I shall be armed fit to strike fear into the hearts of a thousand!" He started walking very purposefully in a direction that might lead him to his equipment once he'd crossed all of Tellius and all the world's oceans.

Mia grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute, what were you starting fires for?"

"Not fires, _fire_. Only one."

She made another connection. "Was it a cooking fire? I didn't think you knew how. Or is that –" Realization dawned, and she broke into a sudden grin. "Is that the whole problem? Did you do that badly?"

"It was sabotage. Sabotage, I say! Now unhand me."

Mia let him go. "Let's meet up right here in a quarter of an hour, all right? We can just fight until the food's ready, so you don't have to work Maximillian too hard, either."

"Don't talk to me about food!" Kieran folded his arms stubbornly and gave her a narrow-eyed glare. "And his _name_ is Lawrence," he added belatedly.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I don't plan on starving out of spite." Mia shrugged. "Your loss, I guess. I'll see you and, uh, Lawrence in a few, then?"

"If you don't realize your error and flee in fear."

"Not very likely."

"Then yes." He began walking in the correct direction this time. Mia waited only long enough to be certain of that before she closed her eyes and drew her blade. Fifteen minutes was more than long enough to prepare herself. Right foot there, left foot… _there_… She called up her memories of the most recent battle. Commander Ike's stance was different, so try holding the sword like – ugh, that was awkward. Still, a horizontal slash, then step back –

A voice broke through her concentration. "…ia? Mia! Hey, watch it!" She opened her eyes to find her sword leveled at Commander Ike himself.

"Ah! Sorry." She grinned apologetically, shrugged, and slid her sword back into its sheath. "What's up, boss?"

"Have you seen Kieran?"

"Yeah, he went that way." She jerked a thumb back over her shoulder. "We were just about to spar. Should I go get him?"

"You were about to spar," said Ike, an odd expression on his face.

"Yup. I was just experimenting with your sword style –"

"I see." On second thought, it wasn't that odd; it was probably a scowl. "Do you know anything about the fire?"

"He says it's Oscar's fault." Ike rolled his eyes and set off rather angrily in the direction Mia had indicated. She did _not_ want to be Kieran when the commander caught up to him. She did sort of want to see that, though, so she forgot about training for the moment and tagged along.

When they found him, he was having a very one-sided argument with Lawrence: the horse was clearly winning. Kieran repeatedly attempted to put a bridle on his mount's head, but Lawrence, though the rest of his posture suggested perfect laziness, continually craned his neck away from it. Ike snorted in amusement despite himself, and Mia smothered a laugh. That was enough to get Kieran's attention. He turned to look at them, glowered briefly at Lawrence for making him look stupid, then saluted, hiding the bridle behind his back. "General Ike!"

"I wish people would stop doing that," Ike muttered.

"Doing what?"

"Saluting – never mind. What happened in the mess hall today?"

"I was… cooking. Soup."

"You're telling me that this fortress has been standing for a century or more, we use it for a week to regroup, and you almost destroyed everything making soup?"

A lengthy pause. "Yes."

Ike sighed. "And did you even bother checking on Rhys afterward?"

Mia had to interrupt. "What did he have to do with – oh, that's right, wasn't he there, too?" Man. She hoped he was all right.

They ignored her. "Kieran, I think I talked to you before about risking your life needlessly. The same applies to everyone else's lives, all right?"

"How _is_ Rhys?"

"Fine. Mostly." He seemed about to say something else before Marcia ducked out of her tent and waved him over.

"Commander! Ilyana just fainted again!"

Ike gave Kieran a significant look before he left them to explain to the pegasus knight why food was on an indefinite hiatus.

"Still up for sparring?" Kieran asked lamely once he'd left.

"Actually, I think someone should check on Rhys," said Mia, making discombobulated pointing gestures in a direction within ninety degrees of the healing tent.

Kieran nodded. "Someone should."

Fifteen seconds passed.

"Well, uh, after you, I guess," said Mia, waving him towards the healing tent.

"Hah!" He struck an arrogant pose, staring down his nose at her. "Do you think a real knight would fall for so simple a ruse? Whoever leaves the field of combat first forfeits the bout!"

"But aren't you worried?"

"Aren't you?"

"Yeah, but don't think you can make me give up that way!" She crossed her arms and returned his stare. "Did you think that would work on me because I'm a woman? Because we're supposed to be sitting around nurturing people instead of going to war?"

"I never said anything like –"

"Don't tell me you're one of those people who thinks a sword shouldn't be in a woman's hands!"

"I'm not! But as a royal knight, I can't stand down. You don't have that kind of obligation. I thought –"

"Please! I'll never give in."

Several more seconds slid by, and it was ultimately Mia who made the concession. "Maybe if we went together?"

Kieran was plainly trying very hard not to look relieved. "You could have saved yourself grievous injury by backing down. As it is, we'll have to fight again."

"I'll win."

"Against a Crimean Royal Knight?"

"Just you wait." Mia grinned, grabbed Kieran by the forearm, and hauled him several steps before he realized what was going on enough to take offense and start dragging _her_. They continued in this manner all the way to their destination.

* * *

"Rhys! Are you all right?" 

"The dead don't generally cough that much."

"Soren!"

"He's fine."

Rhys opened his eyes, but closed them immediately; he really preferred having the ability to focus before he used them much. He mentally checked his body over – no real pain, except that it felt as though the fire lived on in his mucous membranes. He could live with that, he just would rather not have that and this horrible disorientation at the same time. Ah, well. You couldn't always get what you wanted.

"Rhys!"

"He still hasn't died, despite your best efforts."

Mist's voice… and Soren's. That was a good sign. He'd been healed, then, and pretty well – Mist was learning her way around a staff very quickly, and Soren was picking it up just as fast, albeit with considerably less subtlety. He tried opening his eyes again. His vision was less blurry already.

"Mist, Soren, thank you."

"You're okay!" Mist flung herself at him, forcing all the hard-earned air out of his lungs and triggering another coughing fit.

"Yes. I'm sorry to have worried you."

"Don't be." She sat back on her heels. "It was Kieran's fault, and I'm sure Ike's talked to him already."

"Speaking of which…" Soren grimaced, glancing over his shoulder towards the tent flap.

"What? Is he coming?"

"Yes. So is…" Soren cocked his head to one side as if to hear better, though Rhys wasn't convinced that the young sage was using his ears at all. "That sword girl."

"The one with the hair?" Rhys said under his breath, smiling faintly.

"I wasn't aware of anyone in this army without," said Soren, giving Rhys a critical glare.

Rhys made a dismissive gesture, fighting the urge to chuckle. They'd probably think he was delirious or something to that effect. "Never mind. It's Mia."

Soren scowled as though to question the relevance of any mere soldier's name, then stood and left wordlessly. Mist stared after him. "He's so weird." She turned back to Rhys. "Are you sure you're all right? If you don't want company, I'll tell them off."

"I'm fine, Mist, and I wanted to talk to Kieran anyway." Rhys propped himself up on his elbows, fighting off a wave of dizziness. "Really."

"Well…" Mist looked skeptical. "I'll stay here anyway in case you're not."

He smiled at her. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

The tent flap bulged inward, then fell slack. There were sounds of a scuffle outside and one unmistakable yell of "Perfidy!" Mist shot Rhys a questioning glance, and he nodded. She stood and opened the flap. Mia and Kieran were standing right outside, the latter glaring at the somewhat nonplussed former.

"Fine, I'll go first, or whatever," Mia said, shrugging, then almost walked into Mist. "Oh, hi, Mist. Is Rhys in?"

She looked about to chastise someone. "Well, he's –"

"Mist," Rhys said mock-sternly. She sighed and stepped aside. "Mia, come on in. You, too, Kieran." Mia gave Kieran a significant stare which Rhys couldn't quite interpret and stepped inside. The knight paused a moment wearing a superior smirk before following her. He grew quickly serious when his eyes fell on Rhys.

"Rhys," he said gravely, "Please accept my apology and believe that I am doing everything in my power to avenge you –"

Rhys and Mia both spoke at once.

"Avenge me?"

"But you were talking to me the whole time!"

"I was _planning_ to avenge you," Kieran said sourly, glaring at Mia.

"Don't you have to die to be avenged?" Mist asked Rhys.

"Not necessarily, though in general –"

He was interrupted by a yelp from Kieran as Mia elbowed him in the side. "Say you're sorry!" the myrmidon hissed.

"That's what 'accept my apology' means."

"Not necessarily," said Mist.

Sensing the faint beginnings of an all-out shouting match, Rhys intervened. "I forgive you, Kieran. I just hope you'll be more careful in the future."

"Caution? Caution is the mark by which timidity is recog – hey!" Mia had elbowed him again, quite forcefully. "I, er, yes."

"If you're serious about learning how to cook, maybe Mist will help you," said Rhys, ostentatiously rolling his eyes toward the young cleric. "You'll have to ask her, of course."

"She can cook?"

"Yes, _I_ can," said Mist, looking a little miffed. "Oscar taught me." Rhys put a cautionary hand on her arm, but too late. Kieran was already scowling thunderously. When he opened his mouth to speak, Mia moved to elbow him again, but he blocked her and evidently lost his line of thought in the process, for instead of the customary outburst he fell to half-hearted grumbling.

Rhys looked hopelessly at Mia. "Um, Mia, by any chance, can you…?"

"A little." Mia frowned, gnawing thoughtfully on her thumbnail.

"That would defeat the whole purpose," Kieran said bleakly. The others looked at him, but he did not explain, and they gave up before long.

Rhys sighed heavily. "The fact is that you somehow manage to get into as much trouble as half the army, even if it's not always your fault. Today was just a really good example. And sadly, you're not the only one. Mia, how many times did Mist or I have to heal you in the last battle?"

Mia grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Eight or twelve? I would've been okay. I have vulneraries and stuff."

"No, you wouldn't have!" Mist interrupted. "You were bleeding like crazy. You could have died three or four times!"

Mia grinned wider in abashed acknowledgement, looking studiously at the ceiling. "But I didn't."

"Mercenaries are frequently reckless," said Kieran, apparently recovered from his bout of ill temper. "It's because they lack an ideal to which to aspire –"

"You're worse," said Mist.

"I am not!"

"Then how come Daniel had to overhaul all your armor?" Mia said.

"Enough." Rhys spoke quietly, but so firmly that everyone immediately focused on him. Unsure what to do with that much attention, he quickly became flustered. "Um, look, since you're both here and all, I have a favor to ask. Uh, if that's all right?"

Mia didn't hesitate. "Sure thing."

"What is it?" Kieran asked.

"Well, you're both really good fighters, but, um, you don't always… notice things."

"Do, too!" they said in unison, then each stared at the other in utter disbelief that anyone could be so deluded.

Rhys nodded in resignation. "Yes, yes, of course, bur hear me out. Can even someone as skilled as the two of you fend off three brigands and still get the one sneaking up behind them? Don't answer that! I just think you'd both benefit if you sort of… looked out for each other."

"He's my rival!"

"She doesn't have a horse!" Rhys and Mia stared questioningly at Kieran. "She'll never be able to keep up. Lawrence and I once outran a stampede of –"

"Thank you, Kieran," Rhys said somewhat impatiently. This was a really good idea, he was sure of it, and he thought he knew how to sell Mia on it, too.

"And she's my… _other_ rival!"

"Exactly. What kind of warrior would let his" – Mia was glaring at him – "or her rival be taken by some common brigand or a stray arrow? You have a contest to settle between yourselves, and you both have to be alive to do that, don't you?" There was a long pause. Was this going to work? Oh, goddess, it would save him so much headache…

"Lawrence will bite her arm off."

Both Mist and Mia snorted disparagement.

"Is that your only objection?" Rhys asked.

"Yes. I could use the opportunity to find all the weaknesses in her style, so that my victory will be all the more –"

"Great, and I have a spare," Mia said cheerily.

"Spare what?"

"Arm."

Suddenly Kieran was smiling his approval. _Dear goddess, please don't let him actually subscribe to that philosophy, _Rhys prayed desperately. "Then it's settled."

"Yup." Mia offered her hand, and Kieran shook it vigorously, leaving the myrmidon trying not to wince.

"Rhys?" Mist was leaning over him again. Wait, wasn't he sitting up? It seemed not, and… oh, dear, things were getting blurry again…

Rhys fainted, quite possibly from sheer relief.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm leaving tomorrow for three weeks, but hopefully I'll have chapter 3 for you by the end of July. On a related note, this chapter clearly isn't as good because I had finals and then I _really_ wanted to have it done before I left… So, my apologies. It won't happen again.

Thanks for reading.


	3. Which ends with a dramatic revelation

An arrow whistled by her ear and clanked harmlessly off someone else's armor. Lightning magic crackled on the air, striking the same place as often as it damn well pleased, thanks. Some ways off, a cat laguz yowled. Reyson chanted intently over Largo. Her most immediate opponent's axe made a heavy whooshing sound as he swung it through the air, missing (of course) and leaving himself off-balance. She pressed the advantage, cutting him down. Above all the other sounds of battle, Mia could hear her sword sing.

Sadly, Kieran's bellowed warning didn't add a whole lot to the wartime harmony. "Duck!" She ducked. His hand axe flew by overhead. Craziness! If her reflexes hadn't been so ridiculously good…

Kieran, naturally, didn't notice. "Thus always to Daeins! _Crimeaaaaa!_" It seemed to Mia that this "knightly valor" business was based on riding a horse and therefore having enough breath to yell ridiculous things in battle.

A ballista bolt came screaming out of the sky, narrowly missing Marcia. "Oh, crackers!" the pegasus knight said feelingly, and Mia had to wonder if Begnion's knights had the same idea of valor.

"Marcia! You shall not go unavenged!" Kieran yelled, heeling – um, Mercutio? – into a full-on gallop towards the offending archer.

"I'm not dead!" Marcia called after him. Mia could have told her that he wasn't going to listen, or that you didn't necessarily have to die to be avenged, but instead occupied herself with cutting a path through the tight Daein formation, which had closed after Kieran's passage. Rhys had also said they should watch out for each other, and if that sounded a little odd, well, she'd believed odder. Besides, the man was a _priest_. Priests didn't lie, and divine inspiration was supposed to sound strange.

She lunged backward to avoid the javelin cutting across her path and lost sight of Kieran. Well, he was probably still somewhere near the ballista, so she'd keep heading that way –

"Mia!" An arm came down out of nowhere, wrapped itself around her waist, and scooped her into the air. Before she quite figured out what was going on, she'd been hauled up onto one horse, passed off onto another, and dropped some ways away. Now she was definitely never going to find Kieran. Not that that was too disappointing. Mia fought on. Her sword work was dazzling and terrifying – but she'd expected that, because all her dreams the previous night had been full of nothing but good omens. Things were going really well, with fewer and fewer enemies rising to meet her blade, when again someone roared "Mia!" and hoisted her into the air.

She was actually almost ready this time and managed to seat herself behind the rider, though she got a faceful of red armor in the process. "Kieran! What are you doing?"

"Rescuing you," he said. He didn't say "you stupid ingrate," but it sounded like he wanted to. "Just hold on – Hah! Daein scum! _I am Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran! Behold me and tremble!_" If Mia had been on the ground, she probably would have. He was laying about with a much bigger axe than she'd ever seen him use, and probably bigger than anyone really needed, with a total lack of concern for his horse or himself. Mercutio was not too happy about that, and probably only kept his riders on his back because they could do less damage there.

"Put me down!" she shouted into his ear. Instead he wheeled Mercutio around, nearly throwing her off in three different directions. She threw her arms around Kieran's waist and clung on grimly, sometimes smashed against him by Mercutio's uneven gait. She liked horses, really – it was _riding_ them that started giving her trouble. "Put me down, you oaf!" she shouted again, but at exactly the same time he broke into another roar of "Crimea!" so she couldn't even hear herself. She had to take matters into her own hands, she decided as she watched the ground lurching by beneath them. _All right, Mia, on three. One..._ A small tornado ripped through the grass toward them. _Five!_ She let go of Kieran and pushed off against Mercutio's flanks, and almost got clear before a flying hoof hit her in the head.

* * *

The taking of Castle Delbray had been a truly magnificent military feat – no, that didn't do it justice. It had been a strategic masterstroke on the part of General Ike, executed faithfully and brilliantly by Crimea's finest, led by one Captain of the Fifth Platoon. Well, all right, there was _one_ member of Crimea's finest whom Kieran hadn't led, but that would have been presumption. Besides, they hadn't even made contact until the battle was almost over anyway.

"General! General Geoffrey!" Kieran crashed to his knees in a commotion of armor, slamming a fist into his breastplate. "Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran reporting for duty!" The battle had ended some time ago, but that was hardly at issue here. The most important thing was to establish that his fidelity, his readiness to serve, and his love of Mother Crimea had remained untarnished through all the perils he'd endured.

Geoffrey looked a little confused, no doubt awed by the captain's continued survival and the remarkable panache and decorum with which said survival had been achieved. In the General's position, Kieran decided generously, he'd be dazed, too.

"Well met, Kieran. You may rise."

Kieran wasted no time in doing so. "When I learned that you had survived, such joy was mine, such terrific joy! And now I find it redoubled! General, it is an honor and a pleasure to…" He had to stop, temporarily overcome by all the honor and terrific joy and whatnot. "I named my horse after you, you know."

* * *

There were many things more pleasant to wake up to than Soren's scowling face – not that that was a personal judgment. To that end, Rhys had thanked the young sage and told him that he and Mist could take it from there, which might have been a slight exaggeration. By the time he reached the last cot, his vision had picked up this annoying tendency to lurch sideways whenever he focused on anything too intently. He sighed, waiting for it to center itself again, and took a deep breath. The taking of Castle Delbray had been difficult, but ultimately well worth it, if you were one of those who considered bloodshed a particularly effective vector for change. He was not, he told himself firmly; he'd merely come to recognize as time went on that some disputes took a stronger vocabulary to settle, and that in this case war could be seen as a particularly pungent word choice – or was that too clement a stance? Had his ideals been corrupted by these years of – 

_This isn't the time, Rhys. These people need you, and you can worry about your moral deterioration later. _This cot bore the last of the day's wounded, after all. Just one more patient, and then he could rest a while.

He recognized that inert form immediately and clapped a palm to his forehead in exasperation. What was Mia doing here? Unconscious, no less. Maybe he'd been overconfident; maybe he'd had too much faith in his own plan. Maybe he'd trusted Kieran with too much... Although, for a wonder, the red-armored knight had emerged from the battle unscathed, albeit slightly hoarse.

Time enough for questions later. Unconsciousness was never a good sign; staff healing worked better on external injuries, and Mia didn't seem to have any. Absolutely anything could be running amok in the swordmaster's body. He really hoped there wasn't much internal bleeding. That would be _torture_ to patch up, on top of the rest of the day's exertions. He knelt beside Mia's cot and resolutely planted the Mend staff between them, gathering the shreds of his power.

Right before he closed his eyes, he saw the partial imprint of a hoof on her temple. That was rather telling. He sealed the wound before allowing his awareness to seep inward. Head injuries took precision to heal properly, a certain delicacy he was no longer convinced he could maintain. But he'd already committed his energies to it; the staff would work with or without his guidance at this point, and staves really had no notion of priorities. Rhys directed the flow of healing energies toward Mia's brain, where he found she'd suffered a (mercifully mild, Ashera be praised) concussion. He repaired it as much as possible before the staff's magic dissipated, at which point he promptly keeled over in what was either sleep or a coma.

The world came back to him in one big, colorless smudge, as though someone had smeared a wet painting of the room across his eyes. _Some painting. The composition's terrible, _he thought wryly and with the barest hint of delirium. His neck was horribly stiff, too. It seemed he'd pitched forward so that his head lay on Mia's cot in what could very easily be construed as an invasion of personal space.

He drew back hastily, settling on the vacant cot behind him and rubbing at his neck. He should be there when she woke; he couldn't quite recall exactly how far the healing had gotten, but there was bound to be some residual damage. In the meantime, he surveyed what had once been – and now was again, he supposed – Castle Delbray's infirmary. A quick glance around told him that most of his and Mist's patients had already left. Princess Elincia's retainers were no doubt throwing all kinds of festivities, and naturally most people would want to take part. Mist was still healing Boyd at the other end of the room, and Soren had slipped back in and sat reading in a dilapidated chair. Otherwise, and apart from him and Mia, the long hall was empty.

"You didn't miss much," Soren said abruptly, not looking up from his book.

Rhys started, then shifted his attention to the young sage, but Soren didn't continue. "Um... how long have you been here?"

Soren made uncommunicative noises, still not looking up.

"What are you reading?"

"Don't you have a patient?"

Rhys sighed. He hated to admit it, but Soren gave him headaches. Actually, that could be said of most of the people he knew. He always seemed to get stuck with the difficult ones... Mia and Kieran not least, however good their intentions. "Soren –"

"I didn't come here to talk." Soren stood, closed his book meaningfully, and let his dark red eyes rake the priest before making for the door.

"Did you happen to see what Kieran was doing during the battle?"

Soren stopped, his hand on the doorknob. "Drawing unnecessary attention, jeopardizing the battle plan, and 'rescuing' Mia every thirty seconds. No doubt that's when she sustained her injury." Rhys tried to believe that there was no especial accusation in that – that Soren was only being Soren. It was a struggle he barely won, only to undermine it with the thought that, yes, this _was_ his fault.

"What's he up to now?"

Soren looked profoundly irritated. For all his antisocial attitudes, he was a keenly observant young man – and he liked to keep that knowledge to himself, thank you very much. Rhys tried to ask him as few questions as possible, on general principles as well as out of a sense of self-preservation. "Before I left, he'd attached himself to General Geoffrey. Given that he plainly worships the ground the General walks on, I would assume he's still there." He stared at Rhys seriously, as though ripping the answers to unspoken questions from the priest's head. "If you feel compelled to seek him out, I'll take over for you here." He gestured at Mia with his book.

It was a tempting offer, but Rhys suspected he'd find some excuse to use the reprieve for rest and not for finding Kieran –which was as good as lying. Certainly there were ulterior motives behind Soren's offer – the pursuit of silence, for one – but he rather skillfully pretended he hadn't detected them. "Thank you, Soren, but I'll stay." The sage's response was a vowel-less monosyllable that might have indicated contempt, assent, contemptuous assent, mild disapproval, milder amusement, or an impending sneeze, and he left with no indication as to which.

Rhys looked over at Boyd and Mist on the other end of the room. The healing had finished some time ago, and it seemed they'd been bickering since then – or possibly even earlier. Those two could carry on the same argument for a week, and their last one had just ended in stalemate when Shinon and Ike had actually agreed on something long enough to get them to "take this up again when there are fewer lives at stake," in Ike's words (in Shinon's, "shut up or start knitting, you sound like a couple of old maids"). He couldn't tell who was winning until Boyd got up and left in what was clearly a strategic retreat if he'd ever seen one. Mist joined him shortly thereafter.

"Everything all right over here?" she asked, plunking herself down next to him.

He wanted to say "yes." Mia seemed to be all right, after all. Still, "seemed" and "was" were two entirely different concepts, and though he didn't want anyone thinking he couldn't pull his weight, or even _thought_ he couldn't pull his weight… "Probably," he said after a pause. "Could you check?"

After an equally long pause in which Mist gave him a look for which there was no clear justification, somewhere between annoyance and concern, she nodded. "All right. What am I looking for?"

"A slight concussion – I think I took care of that, though – and anything else I might've missed."

The young healer closed her eyes for what seemed like only a handful of seconds, then lowered the staff and smiled at Rhys. "Yup, you got it. She should wake up soon."

He smiled back, but only for a moment. This shouldn't have happened in the first place. He couldn't stop himself asking, "Did I do the right thing?"

"What?"

"Kieran and Mia."

"Hm." The pause that ensued was very long indeed, which Rhys didn't find particularly comforting. "I think you were right. Kieran's just Kieran."

"And isn't that the whole problem?"

"You couldn't have known."

"Couldn't I?"

Mist sighed. "Well, Mia's going to be fine."

"At least there's that."

There was yet another interminable pause, one that truly lived up to the name. Not another word was spoken. Mist sighed again, shrugged, and walked out. _Very not-particularly-comforting indeed._

* * *

_Voices. There were voices nearby. She strained to hear. That seemed like a good start, since the only other sense that seemed to be working was her sense of sight, and everything was this dull reddish color anyway._

_"…ild of destin…"_

_"…ith a swor…"_

_She was pretty sure they were talking about her, but she really wished they'd use complete sentences. Or at least complete words. People were so rude sometimes. She moved in a direction that might have been forward, but just as easily might have been up. Well, she thought she moved. Being stuck in this blurry place with no senses was a pain._

_"Mia…"_

_"Hey! Who's there?" It might have been her talking. It might not have been._

_"Help me…" That probably wasn't._

_"Sure thing, where are you?" Suddenly the haze lifted and she could see two children with sticks, only everything was kind of washed-out and yellow. What was _wrong_ with colors today?_

_"C'mon, help me get this parry right. I've almost got it figured out." said one of them, a boy. "Here, you come at me like – Mia! Hey, are you paying attention?"_

_"Yeah, sure," said the other, a girl who really looked a lot like Mia, only about a foot shorter. Wait, that boy was her brother, wasn't he? _Man, he used to be so skinny!_ This must be a memory, then. _But what was that business about destiny earlier? You know, this is probably a vision._ At any time now someone would descend out of the sky and say something like "Mark well what you have seen here, for blah blah blah fate blah chosen one blah." Or something._

_"All right, then – you're still not holding it right! Mia! You have to help me train so I can become a famous wandering swordsman! You want me to fulfill my destiny, don't you? And I'll go around everywhere dueling people…" He could see he was losing her attention again. "I'll bring you presents!"_

_"What kind of presents?" The younger Mia asked shrewdly._

_"The best."_

_Come to think of it, this was sounding pretty familiar. When she was six, a mercenary had stayed in the mayor's house for a week waiting for the rest of his company to come back from somewhere. Her brother had followed him around the whole time and talked for months about how he was fated to become an even better swordsman than that one, which was going to be tough, because he was pretty great._

_Well, if this wasn't a real prophecy, she didn't think she cared about the rest of it. She'd already seen everything. How her brother outgrew his wandering swordsman phase and got himself apprenticed to a blacksmith in another town. And then he'd come back with a crooked sword that might fall apart if you looked at it too hard and said it was the first sword he'd ever made, but maybe she could take it on her adventures since he obviously wasn't going anywhere._

_Actually, those were pretty significant memories. Maybe this was one of those passive guidance type prophecy dreams, where they reminded you what you were supposed to be doing. Okay, so… was she supposed to start learning the sword from someone? No, that was ridiculous. She was already death on two legs. Or maybe it was an admonition not to give up on your destiny and become a blacksmith?_

_Hold on, why was she dreaming anyway? She wasn't supposed to be asleep, there was a battle going on –_

* * *

"Oh, goddess! Am I dead?"

A question that was almost always its own answer, Rhys thought dryly. "You're fine. You were, um, kicked in the head near the end of the battle. By a horse."

Mia felt her head, and Rhys was a little insulted despite himself. Did she expect him to have left a mark? "Whose horse?"

"That's a bit hard to tell." That was _not_ a lie, so as long as she didn't ask any more questions –

"Was it Sabin?"

"Who?"

"Sorry, it's Mercutio today –"

"What?"

"You know. Mercutio. Kieran's horse."

"Ah," Rhys said lamely. No point denying it now. "Yes, I think so." She nodded slowly, chewing on her hair. "Um, why…?"

"Why did I think it was him?" She looked genuinely annoyed, a rare expression for the usually laid-back mercenary. "Because he kept dragging me all over the place. I'd be fighting some guy with an axe and then Kieran would come out of nowhere and grab me and put me on Mercutio. I don't fight well on horseback!"

"Is that really all you're concerned about?" Rhys asked in a low voice, not really intending for her to hear.

"Well, yeah, I guess." Mia laughed. "You're right, that sounds kind of silly. But why would he do a thing like that?"

Rhys sighed, looked away, fidgeted. "I, um, I'm very sorry, Mia, but I believe this was my fault."

"What? Don't be ridiculous!"

He smiled ruefully. "I appreciate that, Mia, but it's the truth. You remember that I told you and Kieran to look out for each other?" He wiped his palms on his robe, wondering how they got to be so sweaty. "I think this is a result of that. I think his behavior was based on his interpretation of 'protecting' you."

"Protecting me?" Mia was taken aback. "You never told him to do that, did you? I mean, watching each other's backs is one thing, but" – she was getting annoyed again, and Rhys was beginning to feel absolutely horrible – "I don't need protecting!"

"No, I never told him that, but I should have realized… You're familiar with the concept of chivalry, aren't you?" Mia shook her head. Rhys sighed, trying to phrase it so that she wouldn't explode righteous indignation. "It's considered a virtue for knights to give women preferential treatment. A certain amount of respect, and, well –"

"So is that why all the other knights defer to Titania?"

Rhys blinked. "Pardon?"

"Well, if knights are supposed to respect women and other knights, wouldn't a woman knight be in charge of everyone?"

He had to smile at that. "A reasonable assumption, but it's not the same kind of respect. It's thought that women shouldn't have to experience many of the harsher realities of life. I suppose Kieran's counting flesh wounds as a harsh reality." _Though you wouldn't know it to see his "glorious and heroic" scars._

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard. When I see Kieran, I'm going to tell him a thing or two –"

"No, no, please wait…" Mia stared at him in confusion as he fumbled to put his thoughts in order. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. This conversation was _not_ supposed to end in Mia hating Kieran for all time. The whole point was that this mess was his fault – _his_. Rhys. But for some reason everyone was so reluctant to believe anything bad of him that sometimes he wanted to grab someone and yell "I'm fallible too."

"Uh, Rhys, are you still there?"

"Yes, sorry, I'm –" He couldn't quite conceal a shudder as a violent wave of nausea passed over him. _There really isn't time for this,_ he thought absurdly. _Too many things still to set right._

"You don't look so good. Maybe you should lie down."

"No, Mia, listen to me, you can't hold this against him –"

"I know, I know, he's just an idiot."

"Where'd you get an idea like –?" It shamed him that he didn't react more quickly. Kieran wasn't stupid, though in moments of extreme subversion Rhys had to acknowledge that the knight frequently gave that impression. Still, that could be said of a fairly significant portion of the mercenaries, and he really mustn't think less of anyone for being born without common sense.

"Rhys? Rhys. You _really_ don't look good. Take a break. I'm serious." Mia shoved him with unwonted gentleness – though it was still definitely a shove – back into a reclining position on the cot. He submitted, telling himself that he was of very little use now anyway. Everyone was fine and, he was certain, would prefer not to be vomited upon. And now he _really_ wished that thought hadn't occurred to him, because once you acknowledged the possibility it was practically inevitable.

He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. _Not now. There isn't enough time in the day to be sick and pitiful. _"What are you going to do?"

"Actually…" Mia chewed on her hair absently, the way she always did when she was thinking about matters of spirituality. "I had this dream just now, and I think it meant something."

"What was it about?" he asked, relieved that she didn't seem to be pursuing a quarrel with Kieran.

"Actually, I'm going to try figuring out what it means by myself this time. Should be fun, right?" She shrugged confidently, something Rhys had never seen achieved before. "Actually, I already have a pretty good idea. But I might need your help later, so rest up, all right?"

"I'll be glad to help."

"Great." Mia gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and strolled out of the infirmary into the adjoining hall. Not three seconds had passed before Rhys had to scrabble for the chamber pot.

* * *

Geoffrey was plainly still taken aback, and Kieran had to fight down the ungentlemanly urge to congratulate himself effusively. "Kieran," the general said at last, "As great a relief as it is to know that you live, you've made this speech twice already."

"Oh. Really? I don't remember that." Kieran frowned. "Must be the overpowering elation."

Geoffrey smiled. "Yes, I can understand that. But" – his face took on that look of confusion again – "your horse's name is Edgar."

* * *

**A/N: **I'd make a whole bunch of horrible yet perfectly valid excuses for the delay, but I don't want to get tedious. From here on out, let's assume that every update is going to take half an age and that I apologize profusely (because it will, and I do).

Thanks for reading.


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